


Remedy Against Bad Times

by todisturbtheuniverse



Series: A Ribbon at a Time [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5071372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road home is long; Adaar is relieved to have Josephine at the end of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remedy Against Bad Times

It's going on midnight, and Adaar—exhausted from the long ride back from Adamant—has begun to doze off over her paperwork before the fire.

She's just so comfortable, is all. After days and days in the saddle, after all the laying on the ground that makes her back act up, she's back on her comfortable chaise in her comfortable room. The dust has been washed away with not one bath but two, her hair is finally clean of not only dirt but demon essence and blood, and there's a long-sleeved robe wrapped around her to keep out the mountain chill.

She keeps hoping, if she waits long enough, that Josephine will come and burn the memory of Adamant away.

She had a glimpse of her at dinner, and that's all. She was wearing this lovely, dark green dress, the round neckline exposing more of her throat and shoulders than usual. She'd smiled at Adaar across the room, an apologetic thing from within a ring of nobles. Adaar closes her eyes to picture it, the first good thing she's seen in a solid month.

When she opens them again, the fire's burned down, and someone is trying to tug the reports out of her lap.

She reacts thoughtlessly, hand snatching out to grab the wrist of the person who's snuck into her rooms in the dark. The intruder stills under her grasp as she blinks her eyes rapidly to clear the sleep from them, trying to make out the silhouette backlit against the fire's lingering embers.

"Herah," the voice says, reaching out like a gentle caress in the dark.

She knows who it is immediately, of course; very few people have ever used her given name, and only one of them is alive. She changes her grip on Josephine's wrist, shoves the reports aside with her free hand, and yanks Josephine down into her lap. Against her neck, Josephine lets out a surprised gasp—and then Adaar's hand dips into Josephine's perfectly styled hair to pull her head back, tipping her face up. She sees Josephine's eyes widen just before she kisses her.

Her lips are soft with the balm she uses, scented lightly with honey. Adaar parts them with her own, free hand reaching down to mold to Josephine's hip, adjust her in her lap, and with their bodies crushed so close together, she can feel the way Josephine breathes deep, her chest quickly rising. Adaar's still half-asleep, a little muddled, and every bit of her clamors to move her hand lower, slide her hand beneath Josephine's dress and up, up—

They'd found so few moments alone before she'd departed for Adamant, and none of them had been like this, with the dark around them like a heavy cloak and mindless desire thick in her blood. It had been too soon—she hadn't wanted to push—but Josephine's back arches and her soft fingertips trace down the scar standing out on Adaar's neck and dance over her shoulder, and it doesn't feel _too soon_ anymore.

Still—she pulls herself back from the kiss, forces them apart even with Josephine leaning after her, a very improper whimper falling from her lips. "We can stop," she says, even though she can feel the ridge of Josephine's hip through the fabric of her dress and oh, she wants to kiss it, run her tongue along it and down, _down_.

Josephine's fingers slide into the mess that remains of Adaar's braid, holding tighter. "Do _you_ want to stop?" There's a breathless note in her voice that Adaar's never heard there before, something husky and hopeful that reaches fingers into Adaar's core and wakes a bonfire.

"No," Adaar tells her, "I don't. But tell me if you—"

Josephine, more impatient than Adaar's ever seen her, strains up into the breath of her words and resumes kissing her, one hand tight in her hair, the other on her shoulder, her thumb resting on the bit of collarbone Adaar's robe has left exposed.

She doesn't need any further confirmation than that. She tightens an arm around Josephine's hips, palm pressed to the small of her back; with the other, she tugs Josephine's head back further. Her spine curves to the pressure of Adaar's hands, as though offering her body up, and Adaar _wants_ —wants _everything_ , wants her as hopelessly as she ever has—

She bends lower to kiss the exposed column of Josephine's throat, flicking her tongue out to taste skin, nipping with her teeth. Josephine's chest heaves, a quick, shuddering motion, and when Adaar presses her lips to the hollow at the base of Josephine's throat, her heartbeat flutters there, fast as a trapped bird's beating wings.

She's glad for the simpler dinner dress—fewer ties and buttons than Josephine's usual garb, the monstrosity that Adaar thinks of as her uniform. In her mind, though, she's slipped those buttons a hundred times, pulled the laces free with swift fingers. Someday, she will have to do just that.

Adaar fastens her mouth to the crook of Josephine's neck and bites again, a little less gently this time, but not hard enough to leave a mark. Josephine's nails dig into her shoulder, hard enough to be felt through her robe, and another broken whimper rises up through the dark. When Adaar looks up, Josephine's eyes are wide open, bright in a beam of moonlight.

Adaar slides an arm beneath Josephine's knees, the other firm around her upper back, and gets to her feet. Josephine throws her arms around Adaar's shoulders as soon as she realizes what's happening. She lets out a belated, indignant squeak into Adaar's shoulder. Adaar chuckles, striding around the chaise with Josephine in her arms. Josephine's mouth opens over the exposed line of her shoulder, and Adaar feels a split second of hot breath before her lips swipe over skin, pause, and _suck_. The chuckle turns to a garbled moan.

Gently—though, after that, Josephine's lucky she wasn't dropped—Adaar lowers her to the bed. Josephine shifts, moving to hitch her legs up around Adaar's hips, drawing her in, and Adaar goes, leaning down to kiss her again, teeth grazing Josephine's lower lip, tugging and pulling. Josephine lets out a breathy little moan right against Adaar's mouth, and the arousal in her belly twists deeper. She releases Josephine's mouth to nibble on the curve of her ear instead; the smooth swipe of Josephine's tongue runs over the scar on her neck. One hand braced on the bed, she slides the other smoothly down Josephine's side—brushing the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip, down until she can bunch the hem of the dress in her fist.

"Herah," Josephine moans against her throat.

Adaar releases the dress for now, running a hand down, lifting Josephine's leg until she reaches her slipper and tugs it off. She repeats the motion on the other side, and only then does she slide the dress up, inch by inch, until she finds the tops of Josephine's stockings, distinguishable by the texture of lace beneath her fingers. She curls her fingers under—Josephine's skin is, impossibly, even softer than this silk—and pulls, rolling each down her legs. She spends a moment stroking those thighs with her fingertips, feels the heat in her swell in reaction to vulnerable skin, scratched beneath the brush of her nails; Josephine quivers in reaction.

"Turn over," Adaar murmurs, right below Josephine's ear. Goosebumps break out over her skin; Adaar can feel the texture of them against her lips.

Josephine obeys, legs untangling from around Adaar's hips. There's a row of buttons marching down her spine and pins glittering in her hair; Adaar reaches for these first, easing them out one by one. Finally, she finds the ends of the braids and undoes each, combing them through with her fingers. Josephine lets out a pleased sigh into the sheets.

Adaar gathers the mass of dark, shining hair in her fist and pulls it aside, baring the nape of Josephine's neck. She leaves a row of open-mouthed kisses here; Josephine, who'd begun to relax against the bed, tenses up again. Adaar fingers the topmost button of her dress, and it comes loose, baring another fragment of Josephine's skin. Her shoulders pull taut, muscles shifting restlessly beneath her skin.

Adaar continues down the line of her back, freeing button after button. Josephine's skin pebbles in the wake of her fingers. When she reaches the small of Josephine's back, she spreads the dress open as far as it will go, hands curling around Josephine's waist, and bends down to kiss the dip of her spine, the rise of her shoulder blades above the line of her camisole. She sucks here and there, harder now—no noble or diplomat will see the marks she leaves on Josephine's back, evidence that her teeth and tongue and lips have been here, tasted her flesh. Josephine squirms against the bed, her hips giving a truncated roll against the mattress.

When Adaar turns her over again, Josephine's eyes are half-lidded, the irises swallowed up by the wide black of her pupils. She reaches up to cup Adaar's cheek, tug her down for another kiss—messier now, tongue slipping out to swipe at the gap between Adaar's lips. Adaar lowers her hands to the gaping neck of the dress and begins to tug it down. Josephine wriggles to help free her arms, and then Adaar breaks the kiss to watch as she drags the fabric away. The swell of Josephine's breast appears above her camisole; the peak of her nipple strains at the fabric.

She tugs again, and Josephine arches her back to help the dress slide free. Finally, Adaar casts it aside, leans over to suck the point of Josephine's breast into her mouth, silk and all. Josephine gives a soft, lovely moan, fingers knotting in Adaar's hair, as her teeth graze the sensitive flesh.

"Up," she says, and Josephine sits up; Adaar pulls the camisole over her head, baring her breasts, the gentle curve of her belly. She looks half-wild like this, her hair dark and messy around her shoulders, her eyes dark with anticipation. Adaar cups the neglected breast in her hand and pulls Josephine's head back with the other, capturing her mouth, biting at her lip as her thumb teases over and around the straining peak. Josephine arches into her touch, panting now, her kisses frantic.

She bends Josephine back to the bed, makes her way down her body, kissing her stomach, running her tongue over the ridge of her hip. Josephine's hands clench in the sheets, her hips twitching up.

Adaar brushes a kiss against her inner thigh, and Josephine trembles.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a horrible tease?" she demands, the exasperation in her voice belied by desperate want.

Adaar laughs into her skin, and the muscles in Josephine's thighs tense. "On occasion," she admits. She presses her mouth higher, closer to Josephine's center, and she lets out what sounds very like a whine. "Now that I know the kinds of noises you make when you're teased, I'm sorry to say I'll be just as horrible in the future. More, maybe."

"As long as you keep going," Josephine says, and she doesn't _beg_ , not exactly, but the plaintive tone of her voice comes close.

Adaar sympathizes; she isn't in possession of infinite patience, so she runs the pad of her thumb up against the silk made damp by Josephine's arousal, and Josephine goes completely still. Slowly, lightly, Adaar rubs that thumb in a wide circle, just around where she estimates Josephine's clit should be—

And she moans at that, such a rich, relieved sound that Adaar immediately works her smalls down her legs so that she can repeat the motion with no barrier. She settles down to kneel on the floor, glad for the rug that's soft on her knees, and parts Josephine's lips with a lingering stroke of her fingers. The slick heat of her is overflowing, and Adaar hasn't even pressed _in_ yet, and her _scent_ —Adaar leans in to follow her fingers with her tongue, desperate to taste her.

She reaches out to free Josephine's hands from the sheets, curving them around her horns instead; even the broken one has enough length for Josephine's delicate fingers to hold onto. There's a shocked intake of breath, and then Adaar feels her fingers tighten, trying to bring Adaar in closer against her. Her legs next—Adaar pulls the crook of each knee over her shoulders, dragging Josephine to the very edge of the bed. Settled now, she licks again, stopping just short of Josephine's clit, and the woman above her actually grumbles her frustration.

But Adaar is nothing if not thorough. She returns to Josephine's outer lips first, dragging her tongue up each side, over and through her neatly trimmed hair. She lays a row of light, tiny kisses, barely brushing Josephine's skin. By the time she licks into Josephine's center again, her breath is harsh, strained, and she is _dripping_. It's heady, the taste and smell and feel of her, writhing beneath Adaar's attentions; never in her imaginings was it as visceral as this, Josephine's heels digging into her back, her body open and welcoming, the moonlight gilding the soft curves of her body with silver, her hair spread dark on the white sheets.

She eases her tongue deeper into Josephine's flesh, licking over the entrance to her cunt. She likes that, going by the way she tugs at Adaar's horns, as if to pull her even deeper. She holds Josephine's hips down to the bed with one arm; with the other, she begins toying with her clit again, fingers lightly stroking on either side of it, close but not touching. Josephine tries to move closer to the stimulation, but Adaar's strong enough to keep her still.

When she finally rises up to lap directly at Josephine's clit, the slim fingers on her horns squeeze. She wouldn't be surprised if Josephine's knuckles have gone white. She goes slow until she learns what Josephine likes: she squirms when Adaar circles the area with her tongue, twitches away when she flicks directly at it, and tries to buck up into long, slow laps with the broad flat of Adaar's tongue.

Next time, she'll lay on the bed and spread Josephine above her, let her ride her mouth. Imagining it makes her groan against Josephine's slick sex, and Josephine cries out in reaction, trying to pull Adaar tighter against her.

She returns to slowly licking, matching the controlled undulation of Josephine's hips. When she feels Josephine tensing, when her hips fight Adaar's arm harder than before, she backs off, turning her attention to other areas of Josephine's cunt instead: sucking softly at her slick inner lips, dipping her tongue deeper into the ring of muscle at her entrance, lapping through her folds without touching her clit. Once Josephine's muscles have lost their hopeful tension, she goes back to her earlier ministrations, offering a harder pressure with her tongue than before.

She's done this twice, and her jaw is aching, when Josephine's moans carry words with them. "Herah," she begs, pulling at her horns, "Herah, _please_ —"

She _keens_ as Adaar presses a finger into her, just to the first knuckle. She's so slick that her flesh offers no resistance at all, but then the velvet heat of her cunt begins to squeeze around Adaar's finger. She draws back, adds a second, stretching Josephine wider, and Josephine's thighs spread as if opening for her.

Her voice is higher now, louder on every syllable. "Oh, oh—Herah— _oh_ —"

Adaar sucks the bud of Josephine's clit between her lips and strokes it with the broad flat of her tongue, once, twice—

Josephine's hips jerk against her arm; her moan is loud and long and rises in pitch as Adaar works her through her climax, her fingers sliding deeper to give the fluttering walls something to clench around, her tongue still softly lapping at the nerves trapped between her lips.

Finally, Josephine shudders, pushes on her horns instead of pulling. Adaar eases the fingers from her body and sucks them into her mouth instead, relishing the last taste of her—the heady combination of Josephine's arousal mixed with her own skin. Josephine watches her, her head tipped to the side, her eyes just barely open.

She remembers her own arousal then, the heart beating desperately between her legs, the cunt that aches for Josephine's fingers and mouth. Josephine tugs once more at her unbroken horn, and she rises up over her body to lay on the bed beside her.

Josephine pulls her in for a kiss, her soft tongue darting out to taste herself on Adaar's lips. "Let me take care of you," she breathes against Adaar's mouth, nimble fingers parting the robe that already hangs half-open; her hand cups the weight of Adaar's breast, thumbing over an aching nipple. After a moment, the same hand slides down Adaar's body, neatly parting her lips and rubbing through the slick at her core—fingers slowly petting circles around her clit.

"Lie back," Josephine murmurs.

She pulls her hand away, and Adaar settles back against the pile of pillows at the headboard, but once there, she can't let Josephine go so easily; they lay entangled, Josephine's weight resting against Adaar's, the full softness of her breasts against Adaar's chest, the wet slick of her core open over Adaar's hip. They kiss languidly, Adaar's hands around the swell of Josephine's hips. Josephine, balanced on one elbow, smoothes a hand over Adaar's belly. Her fingers slide down through the thatch of dark hair, back into the heat of her, and Adaar curves up into the touch, seeking more.

Josephine pulls away, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the scar on Adaar's neck, then another, and another, working her way down to the ridge of Adaar's collarbone. Her fingers never stop their slow, torturous movements between Adaar's thighs. At the crook of her neck, she bites, swift and hard, and then her tongue soothes away the pleasant pain.

"Your armor will cover it," she murmurs against Adaar's throat, more kisses in a row down the valley between her breasts.

Now she moves more quickly; she slides into place between Adaar's legs, guides Adaar's hand to her loose hair, and bends intently to her task, pulling her fingers away.

Her mouth is solid, perfect wet heat, the pressure of it suckling against Adaar's core. Her fingers were one thing; her lips are another entirely. Adaar can't let her head fall back against the headboard without bumping her horns, so she watches, intent on the pink flash of Josephine's tongue pressed to her flesh. She doesn't tease, not the way Adaar did; she works in smooth, even, short strokes, occasionally pausing to flick with the point of her tongue. When Adaar can't hold herself still any longer, she rolls her hips up to meet the smooth motion of Josephine's tongue, and Josephine doesn't stop her; she just looks up at her with hooded eyes from between the cradle of Adaar's legs, the light rocking of her head meeting Adaar's every thrust.

When Adaar's quivering—surely the next stroke of Josephine's tongue will undo her—Josephine takes her mouth away. Adaar isn't loud during sex, never has been, but she nearly groans at the loss even so—at least until Josephine's fingers, two at once, slide into her cunt. She lowers her mouth back down to Adaar's clit just as she crooks her fingers, little circular rubbing motions as tight and focused as the even strokes of her tongue—

Adaar remembers not to throw her head back against the headboard, but it's a near thing; she stares down at Josephine hardly able to see her as the pleasure finds her, sharp and insistent, drawing her muscles taut and then leaving them twitching.

When it's over, the breath still harsh in her chest, she uncurls her fingers from Josephine's hair. Josephine leaves a kiss on her inner thigh, looks up from beneath her lashes at Adaar as though she's gone shy, the color in her face obvious despite her the low light of the room.

"Come here," Adaar murmurs.

Josephine crawls up to lie beside her; Adaar pulls her in close against her chest, pressing a kiss to Josephine's hair. "I missed you," she murmurs, stroking a thumb soothingly over Josephine's hip.

Josephine's smile is a little sly. "You hide your feelings very well." Her eyes soften, though, and she reaches out to drape an arm over Adaar's weight. "I missed you, as well. I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier—"

Adaar holds a finger to her lips. "Don't be. I understand."

Josephine kisses her fingertip. "I am so relieved to see you safe." Her voice barely wavers, but Adaar hears it: a catch, a fear, slipping through.

No promise will soothe it, keep it at bay, even without the Nightmare loose in the world. There is always the chance that she won't come back, but so long as Josephine stands at the end of the road, she will fight men and monsters, everything this world and the next has to throw at her.

Something heavy beats in her heart. She holds Josephine close to hear it.


End file.
